Wexford 3 - Wolf to the Slaughter by Ruth Rendell

Author:Ruth Rendell [Rendell, Ruth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780345317445
Publisher: Ballantine Books
Published: 2011-09-07T04:00:00+00:00

It was nearly nine when the call from the station came through to Burden's house.

'Ruby Branch is back again, sir.' The voice was Martin's. 'She's got Knobby Clark with her and she wants to see you. I can't get a word out of them.'

He sounded apologetic and as if he expected a reprimand. But all Burden said was, ‘I’ll be straight down.'

At his throat, he could feel that odd little stricture, that nervous pull, which meant something was going to happen at last. His tiredness went.

Ruby was in the police station foyer, her attitude abject, almost martyred, and on her face an expression of stoicism. Beside her, on a spoon-shaped red chair inadequate to contain his bulky rotund body, sat the fence from Sewingbury. Looking at him, Burden recalled their last encounter. Knobby looked nervous now and he had the air of a suppliant, but on that previous occasion it was he who had been in a position to exercise scornful contempt, to bargain and reject. In his mind's eye, Burden saw again the shy ladylike woman who had come to sell the jewels that were her husband's gifts. His heart hardened and he was seized with a sudden anger.

'Well?' he said. 'What d'you want?'

With a heavy mournful sigh, Ruby surveyed the colourful appointments of the hall where they sat and it was these she seemed to address. 'A nice way to talk when I've taken the trouble to come all this way. It's a real sacrifice I've made.'

Knobby Clark said nothing. His hands were in his pockets and he appeared to be concentrating on retaining his balance on a seat constructed for narrower buttocks than his own. The little eyes in cushions of fat were still and wary.

'What's he doing here?' Burden asked.

An apparently self-appointed spokeswoman for both of them, Ruby said, ‘I guessed George'd go to him, them being old buddies. I had a bus ride to Sewingbury after I'd been here.' She paused. 'After I'd been helping you,' she said with heavy meaning. 'But if you don't want to know, that's O.K. by me.' Clutching her handbag, she got up. Her fur collar undulated at the quivering of the big bosom beneath it.

'You'd better come into my office.'

Still silent, Knobby Clark hoisted himself carefully from his chair. Burden could look down easily on to the top of his head. All that remained of his hair was a feathery tuft, again evocative of the stubbly crown on a great mis-shapen swede.

Intent on wasting no more time, he said, 'Well, let's see it, then. What is it?' He was rewarded by nothing more than a slight tremor in Knobby’s mountainous shoulders.

'D'you mind shutting the door?' said Ruby. Here the lights were brighter and her face looked ravaged. 'Show it to him, Mr Clark.'

The little jeweller hesitated. 'Now, look, Mr Burden,' he said, speaking for the first time. 'You and me, we've had no trouble for a long time, have we? Must be seven or eight years.'

'Six,' said Burden crisply. 'Just six next month since you had your little spot of bother over receiving those watches.

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